Close to You
by CalamityElle
Summary: He's hurting. She's hurting. It's his fault. It's her fault. He can fix it. She can't fix it. The course of true love never did run smooth. T for language/themes. First fic.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello, ermm well this is my first fanfic to I'm a little nervous about what you're all going to think, so please be nice :) basically, I had originally planned to write all the chapters of this story before publishing...but it appears that my original plan was far too short, so this chapter is going up as a kind of taster, I have 4 others written so far, and so I will try and update as soon as possible.**_

_**Thanks to Eleantris for her fabulous beta skills and MeganBellaRoseBlack for her encourage ment.**_

_**Happy reading**_

_**Elle xx**_

Everything had changed now. The lighting not as bright, not as warm, nor inviting. There was no cloud of toxic fog putting a grey sheen in the air. The pictures on the walls were not misogynistic yet oddly amusing, but plain, safe, boring...like life in Fenchurch West. The people there were boring - with their "Morning, Ma'am's" and "see you tomorrow, Ma'am's" - nothing but a dry flat tone in her ears. Her desk was boring. She was never surprised with a coffee in a psychedelic mug; a gnome; a note from him. Him. He was just a memory now. They all were. A memory of what was, of what could have been. Even she was boring now: her face no longer made up; her baggy jumpers that she desperately tried to hide behind; her shoes flat, like her hair.

Flat like her mouth, never blessed with a smile. Her eyes unreadable. Frozen in time. A time which haunted her, night after night. She often wondered...did it haunt him too? Him. The reason for her turmoil. And yet she missed him. She remembered him. Everything, even now. The way his hands caressed her, his fingertips dancing on her waist, her hips, her legs. And his kiss. Oh God, his kiss. Like little stars with each brush of his lips against her own. She missed the subtle way the corners of his mouth would curl when he caught her eye; how he'd nudge her boot with his own...Call her into his office and just hold her, whispering that he was there, that he was always there.

Except now, he wasn't, couldn't even speak to her. Not a call, a letter, a knock on the flat door. How she longed to hear that sharp sound that was so unconditionally him. Her flat was the same. She knew he knew that. Who did he blame? Her? She certainly did. How could she be so stupid? So careless? This didn't happen to people like her; it never did. This happened to naïve women...Girls even, not people like her- sensible people, people in control.

How could one tiny mistake, one catalyst for chaos, change her from being so happy, so carefree, to so, so alone? She'd done this before and swore, swore on whatever God may be out there, that it would be different second time round...she wouldn't have to pity the child that had her as a mother.

She'd be useless, like last time. Too wrapped up in work in a feeble attempt to support them. But would it be work this time? Her new post wasn't a patch on her old one. But she had to move, couldn't handle their looks - some of them pitying, some of them embarrassed. Others refused to look at her at all. Not that she blamed them. Who knew what ghastly rumours were fluttering around the office after their little scene? But were they ashamed to call her boss? Ma'am? ...Friend?

No. This time she'd be wrapped up for sure, wrapped up with him.

Him. He was no longer worthy of a name to her. Coward, bastard and wanker were her current favourites. He'd told her once, when they were alone, how she'd changed him: stopped the bitterness, made him think, made him a better man. Ha. The thought was almost funny now.

She thought she knew all she needed, was pleased even, that she'd been the one to tame him, unravel the layers, destroy the walls and climb the mountains he hid behind. Apparently not. The darker side had yet to be uncovered. No. She didn't know him in the slightest. And hell, she didn't trust him.

One night was all it had taken. 12 hours. 720 minutes. 43200 seconds. The three weeks that followed had been glorious. The best of her life. Of both her lives. It was like she was floating, flying even. Except she didn't know the landing would be so sudden.

When she found out, in the shitty ladies toilets on a twenty minute lunch break on a dismal Friday afternoon, there had been cheap perfume, smoke and piss wafting through the dodgy ventilation system. She'd been shocked, scared, but pleased. Pleased that she could try again; get it right this time. He'd told her so much in those three small weeks. She thought she could read him like a book.

She was wrong. So, so wrong.

She ran slim shaking fingers over the black and white images in front of her. Nails short and painfully bitten, free of colour. Tears stained her cheeks, but she had to be strong, for both their sakes.

_There's something alive in there, Alex. Something worth fighting for._

**_A bit of a short chapter to start with, but it pretty much doubles by chapter three...would love a review to see what you think xxx_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi! I'm back again-thank you so much to all those who read, reviewed etc etc...I really really appreciate it, I have chapters 1-4 written now, but I'm back at school so updates will probably be rather infrequent unfortunately, never the less, here's the next installment xxx**

She could still remember that last day. Clung on to the minuscule memories she has. A taste, a smell, a colour. It was the toilets she'd miss the most; they'd become her sanctuary these past few weeks. Immune to the eye-watering smells and the odd spider, there was where she did her planning, her thinking, her crying. There was where she sometimes just sat and dreamed. Imagining what would be happening if things were different. In 2008 what would they be doing right now? If he hadn't abandoned her, what would they be talking about? Would they be planning? Buying? She tried her hardest not to go in too deep; each time it got harder and harder to swim free. To snap back, reapply the armour.

Other times she just walked around, the clack of a heel on the cool tiles oddly soothing. She clacked away, creating complex rhythms with her feet. To an outsider it probably sounded foolish, childlike even. To her it was an escape; she could lose herself in the beat and for five minutes she was floating again. She was free.

She took the test in cubicle three. The lock slightly stiffer, the chain slightly harder to pull. She sat for those three minutes looking at the patterns on the doors, finding a six, an eye, a thumb print in the grooves of the woodwork. Her nails dug into her skin. The cheap ring she'd bought from the charity shop in an attempt to look respectable when buying the damn thing was cool against her skin. She still had it now. It glared mockingly in her sock draw. The one she'd cleared for him. It glinted against the light, tacky, far too big, but better than nothing.

Two thin blue lines told her all she needed to know. Why she was late. Where she had contracted that "stomach bug" from. Why all she wanted on her sandwiches was marmite. She allowed herself a small smile at the time. Soon to be slapped away but, for that one moment, in that tiny cubicle, with its graffiti and its smell and its lack of toilet paper, Alex Drake was happy.

The kitchenette, she reasoned, was probably her second favourite. No one but Shaz ever went in there. Shaz. She was one who never looked at her. They all believed it. The rumour. Rumours. Who gave a shit? It didn't matter now. Which was worse? The disgusted looks, or no looks at all? For a while it bothered her. Plagued her. She couldn't stand to be in that room for more than thirty minutes. With their looks and their tuts and their whispers. So she bunked off to the kitchenette, always there in her times of need. Sometimes, she tended to the ever-growing washing pile of mugs, littered with cigarette butts and heaven knew what else. Other times she treated herself; an endless supply of biscuits and brews. Small pleasures. Only one tear was ever shed in that room. A black stripe in the paint work, a vertical slash to a wall. Evidence of her torture.

Once, a long time ago, too long ago, she thought that when she got out of this world, she'd look back on her memories of the evidence room and smile fondly, just remembering. Then was a time when she hated him. A time when she was fighting. A time when she was strong. That was just a distant dream now.

She'd like to think she hated him now, but she was only kidding herself. She couldn't. Shouldn't? That was doubtful; she'd tried. Oh God had she tried, to go back. To unlock, unbolt, unscrew, untie, unravel the hatred she'd had for him when he grabbed her in that room.

But that wasn't him. Him. Back to square one. He wasn't really like that. He was kind, generous, beautiful, loving caring...careless, stupid, angry, scary and a grade A twat.

She contemplated once, in the ladies, what would have happened if she had kissed him that day. Would he have kissed her back? What would she feel? Fireworks? Alarm bells? What if she'd punched him? She knew she could do some damage. She wished she could punch him now. Hard. Punch his stupid fucking smug bastard face in. Ha. As if that would earn her his respect

It was funny; respect could pop faster than a balloon if you were given the right pin.

The last thing she looked at before she left was the office. His office. The blinds were closed, except the door. DCI Gene Hunt stamped across it. Stamped everywhere she went really. His shirt lay dumped under her bed. She didn't have the guts to throw it away, not the heart. Her heart belonged to him. Still. Always. Even after all this.

She remembered his look. His menacing look. Sea blue eyes that once held so much hope, so much wonder; screwed, bolted, sealed, sharply tucked away. The office. With its whiskey-tobacco smell; the stacks of incomplete paperwork. The computer which served just two purposes- pong and an armrest. The Guv's den.

For a while it had been the Guv and Bolly's den. Just a short while. A mere string on the piano of its lifetime. There were many laughs, the odd tear, many drinks and a few stardust kisses. But it was over now.

She took a deep breath and swallowed, collected her things and left. No one said a word. No one accompanied her. The start of her loneliness. She walked for what seemed like an age to get away from what was once a paradise, but now a gaping black hole of...of...empty.

She passed Viv on her way out. Viv. She liked Viv, with his gentlemanly ways and perfect uniform. Even he said nothing. Even he, Viv, was embarrassed and ashamed to have once called her a friend. A simple, undetected nod might have given her some hope. Restored a twinkle, a spark, something - anything to hang on to, to treasure. But no; he just stared like the rest of them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again for all your lovely reviews- I'm so chuffed! hopefully some of your questions will be answered now, happy reading!**

**As always thanks to my beta Eleantris :D Would love to hear what you all think xxx**

'Wash hands before entering'.

'Strictly NO smoking'.

'FIRE EXIT'.

'Breast is best'.

Purple.

Red.

Green.

Blue.

Purple.

Red.

Green.

Blue.

Purple. Red. Green. Blue

PurpleRed. GreenBlue.

PurpleRedGreenBlue.

PurpleRedGreenBluePurpleRedG reenBluePurpleRedGreenBlue_brriiiiinnnnggggggggggg_.

"Ms Drake?"

_Snap. Back to reality. Focus. Focus on something, anything. Hard plastic chairs, swollen ankles, backache. Twenty-two weeks. Don't forget to smile, Alex. For fuck's sake, you're happy! _

Scan two - less scary than scan one perhaps, but still lonely. Nobody was there to hold her hand or whisper sweet nothings in her ear or hold her hair or massage her feet, or make her believe even for just one day that she wouldn't be a shitty mother.

More families there this time; couples, brothers, sisters, mummies and daddies cooing and aw-ing at their treasure to be.

_But none for Drakey_. No. None for Bolly-tart-Knickers, for Madame-slut-Cake or Lady Whore. She didn't deserve it. Bitch. She knew it; he knew it. The bastard. The whole bloody station knew. The whole of East London probably knew. The GMP, the entire population of the fucking metropolitan police probably knew.

Scan one was shit. Or rather, the aftermath of. Silly Drake. Silly naïve little Drakey. So caught up in a new found love of an array of black and white blobs. She had thought he might be too. All the other Dads were, with their grins and their manly tears and their cuddles. But not him. Bastard. God no. Jesus fucking Christ no. Sneaking the photo among the files for it to be later found smashed and damp in a mug; full of whisky stains and fag ends.

It was then that Alex Drake had shed her single tear. A tear for that blob, that little ball of cells growing inside her. Twelve weeks. 12cm; she'd measured it on a ruler. Tiny.

It was odd how something so small could cause such a big mess. Nuclear fission, a single bullet, a tiny fracture, the Falklands.

Alex Drake would not cry for herself, nor would she ask for pity, but for her baby, Alex Drake would put her life on the line. It wasn't its fault its mother was so stupid.

So she found herself back in that waiting room. Probably the last time before delivery. Before the baby was here. Wow. It was almost exciting. Almost.

It was hard to be excited when you're scared witless every single day.

But you carried on; you had to. So there was a big fat stupid grin on your face as you tried to engage in polite conversation. Still twiddling that cheap ring around your finger. Wrapping yourself round your web of lies.

'My husband's in the Army'.

'Yes, he really wanted to be here. This one's our first'.

'He's so romantic'.

Then you slapped the black widow on top.

'He was over the moon when I told him'.

'_Hewasoverthemoonwhenitoldhim _'.

**'He was over the moon when I told him'. **

_'HE WAS OVER THE MOON WHEN I TOLD HIM'_.

It didn't matter how she put it, what words she put emphasis on, whether it was said happily, angrily or otherwise. It was still a big fat lie. A porky. A tale, or any of the other stupid names they were called at school.

Stupid.

There was that word again. Stupid

_That's you Alex. Stupid. _

'_Alex is stupid, Alex is thick. Tie her up and throw her in the nick'._

They were singing, dancing, shouting. She didn't recognise them. It was like the room was spinning, their t-shirts becoming a blur of colour. Purple, red, green and blue.

Someone dropped something; you didn't know what, you didn't care. You didn't really care about anything anymore. But it helped. It brought you back. Back from the cage of your mind. Back to what was real. What was really real.

He wasn't over the moon when he found out. Hell, he wasn't even on the moon. He was so far under the moon it could have been funny. Ha.

But no. Nothing was funny about that night.

It wasn't funny in the slightest to see the person you love, and who is supposed to love you back, suddenly unleash his hidden Mr Hyde. To see those beautiful, silvery eyes darken in menace and rage. That beautiful scarred face turning red and blue as his screams echo around the CID paradise. And those lips. Those stardust lips that cherished and protected. Perfect lips now twisted and contorted with pain from every syllable. _Pain at you, Alex Drake._ The night that unleashed hell.

Nobody knew. That was their turmoil. The fault in their master plan.

Maybe to an outsider, the shift in their relationship was obvious. Their stares, their smiles, the casual brushing of hands and complete lack of personal space. But to everyone else, it was just their way; it was just the Guv and Ma'am.

Was. The operative word. The significance. It was all just a distant memory now. After that night.

That night. The explosion where the world had swallowed paradise.

Even after all this time, his speech was engraved in her mind, an indelible scar. The clown, the rose...and now him.

She knew she was in trouble from his bellow of 'Bolly. Outside, NOW.'

She had followed him cautiously, until his patience wore out and he pulled her round a corner roughly by the elbow. Her mind was a whir as his harsh words ran rings around her head.

"Tell me it's all bullshit, Alex... Tell me"

"Well, Alex? Answer me. Now, Alex."

She could only nod. Words failed her. His expression had changed; there was no longer panic...just anger, maybe fear, but he covered it well. Then he went blank and just said, "No."

Everything after that passed in a flicker. A spark. A flash.

"What...what are you talking about, Gene? Please..."

"Is it mine?"

"What? How can you be so -"

"IS. IT. MINE?"

"Yes it fucking is yours-who else's would it be?!"

"Oh I don't know; why don't we go inside and ask?!"

Ask? What on Earth was he on about? Where was her Gene, the real Gene? The Gene that whispered sweet nothings in her ear, who danced around the kitchen with her? Who spoke with such passion and meaning, who kissed...

Her thoughts were interrupted now, as she once again found herself being roughly manoeuvred by him again. Him. This was not him. What had gone on? Why were they asking people?

His next words were a curse. A series of insults and lies. Screams of what he believed to be true. Of his anguish, his torment.

Mr Hyde certainly had a good pair of lungs.

The seed that had been planted grew and bloomed in front of her in rage...transforming her into that girl again, the girl they picked on, that nobody would believe, that, that...that just wanted to be loved.

Purple.

"Let's assume you're lying eh, Bolls? You're good at that right? Oh very skilled. Ray and Chris here think some twat you were shagging got you up the duff; you thought you'd fob it off to me, hmmm?"

No. This was all wrong. None of it was true. She tried her best to explain. But he was in full flow now. It was as futile as trying to stop a train.

Red.

"Or do I believe Viv? You only did it to get back at your ex. He really that much of a bastard, hmm? Why don't you share with the class? How much of a manipulating poisonous bitch you really are."

He had punctuated every monstrosity with a step towards her. The seed rapidly fed off the anger that fuelled it. She tried again, to reach out, to stop, to tell him it was all lies, to go back to square one.

"Don't you bloody dare touch me. I haven't finished yet," he said, tearing away from her. "Bammo and Terry have an interesting view as well. You really that desperate for a kiddie, Alex, you fancy a new start after that daughter you abandoned? There's a thing called adoption, you might want to look it up, love? When were you planning on disappearing eh? Couple of the weeks down the line? 'Ooh by the way, Guv I'm off- it was nice knowing you' yeah very good, Alex, very clever."

He had almost shouted himself blue; nobody would approach him in his unpredictable state, you could tell they were itching to leave, but a sudden movement could cause an uproar. So they stayed, frozen.

"And last but not least, Shaz, she's heard some really interesting stuff from the WPCs. You thought you could change me eh, Bolly? Stop some other bird from turning my head...do you really have that little trust in me?"

She was willing to do anything now, too stunned to fight back, a rabbit in headlights.

"I thought so," was his retort. "Don't you DARE think about buggering off now. You had better be at work at eight on the dot or there WILL be consequences."

He threw his chaser at the wall to illustrate, orange tears trickling down the memorial, shattered memories of what used to be whole.

"It's all bullshit, Bolls."

His weakness phrase, she'd heard it more frequently lately. It was that moment she knew, her precious Gene was gone.

He had left and the whole room stared. She wanted to run, to escape to hide; her legs wouldn't work. She looked back, exposed, forced into unwanted limelight. Her world was nothing now.

How the world found out she didn't know; it still plagued her to this day...there must have been something she could have done better, maybe it was something she said, her smile? It didn't matter now. Nothing did.

Purple. Red. Green. Blue.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello! I'm back! :D AAANNND I have chapter 5 all written and ready for you, happiness just around the corners everyone, right enough blabbering from me...on with the chapter, it's Gene's turn now, happy reading (oooh and thanks for all your reviews- special thanks to Eleantris and Meganbellaroseblack 3) xxxxxxxxx**

It was like the world has stopped turning. The last candle burnt out, its waxy, colourless coating finally shedding one last drop. The spark, forcing out a last flicker of flame, finally admitted defeat, into the shadows of nothingness.

He was darker now; that was fact, not fiction. His permanent poker face was never blessed with a smile, nor graced with a brooding pout. His eyes no longer grasped their silver glow, but let the life seep down into the tiles beneath. Dark, also.

Dark like his mood. The way he walked, the way he addressed those around him. The way he just sat and stared. His departure, at the same time every night, to the icy embrace of his home. How not one glass; not one drop; not one atom of booze kissed his lips anymore.

Because that was when he'd know - know that he was beyond the point of no return, over the line he set for himself, gone too far from the point of rescue.

For if he ventured into that adorable lake - he feared he'd never swim free.

This time, there was no bird with a perm and mini skirt to throw him a rubber ring and let him go. And hell would freeze over before he let another piece of skirt turn his head.

So for now he'd just wander helplessly on the pier, debating whether to dive in, or turn back - at least now in the beaten, creaky, flaky weathered beams of his life, he was safe.

A quick plunge seemed all too easy, however its movements were mesmerising; its smell captivating. It was all he could do to stay grounded.

He'd see her now and again; when he closed his eyes he could picture her perfectly, every long eyelash fluttering gently over her hazel orbs, carefully masked by layers of dark make up; but he still noticed. He always noticed. Noticed the way the whole world seemed to brighten when she smiled, the way her smart, sleek bob would dance around her features when she moved...the way her skin felt against his, how soft and warm her breath was against his neck, how beautiful and wanted she made him feel.

You see Gene Hunt had never been wanted, not really anyway. He was there when he was needed of course, but it wasn't that people needed him, they just needed someone to carry them or hold their hand. They just needed bones, and muscles to move those bones. Mainly muscle

And Gene Hunt had spent his life trying to prove he was more than just muscle.

His mam had thought so; his teachers had thought so. Gene Hunt: muscle machine, rugby player, boxer...bully.

You see in spite of all this, being muscle was no compliment to him. Being muscle meant being his dad.

The beatings still haunted him, whispering round every corner, cackling behind his back like a witch - the long pointed fingers of his mind sending him in the right direction. He remembered the purples, the blacks and the yellows of his father's menace as the brew of his memories became thicker and thicker. He saw the angry flames in his eyes - ones all too familiar in his own, staring down without an ounce of remorse.

For those three short, perfect weeks, when the worst was about to come, she was there. Her. His guardian. His angel, even in his dreams. Sometimes she offered a simple smile, a wave. Other times a kiss. But whatever it was, whatever ingredients she put inside her own spell, it worked. And everything would be alright again.

Yet not so much anymore. He'd see a smile that quickly faded to be replaced by a hurt, tear stained, broken woman who provided fuel to the fire, to send him off to total darkness.

He only woke to an empty bed now, only went to an empty job, listening to empty sounds and eating empty food. He staggered through his days like clockwork. A living comatose of a man, walking aimlessly through the streets of London, looking for a purpose.

And then he saw her.

She looked...dead. Her flimsy clothes, her limp hair, a worn, elderly expression on her face. He saw her with aqua, marine, sky, turquoise, royal...a boy. She was having a boy. A son. His son if he earned it. If things were different.

Some days he found himself regretting the night. That night. The night to end all nights. He regretted the way the witch filled his every cell and cast its evil spells her way...he didn't expect to be so angry- but the things he heard made him look. Made him look at himself and see… what? An endless list of disappointments, of failures. Of let-down after let-down. Then he thought of her, of her endless list: attributes, perfections, successes. Hell, a baby was better with no father than a shit one. He was the living proof.

That blob, that he still kept in his wallet with a little help from the photocopier, was better off not wanting to be like his daddy, the big tough guy that everyone looked up to. Because, well that wasn't real, not as far as he was concerned. It might be real to Ray and Chris or even Shaz- but not to him. What was real was a man who, despite the bravado and the words and the stares, was lost. Constantly out of his depth. Having to prove to himself more than others that he was worth more than change out of a wishing well, that he was wanted, needed. That it was worth fighting another day.

He wondered occasionally, what would've happened if he had stayed. He would've tried, he was sure of that. But if one too many fuck ups would ruin his world then he was best off with his pier of indifference.

It was like that with Jenna, and with Alice. He'd given it his damn best shot and he'd swore to whatever was out there that he would give being a dad his absolute best shot. But it seemed that the dice rolled for him hadn't included the double six needed for parenthood. Cot death after two short weeks. She'd blamed him, and he'd turned into an award-winningly shit husband. And he couldn't put Alex through that. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. She was worth princes and diamonds, while the most he deserved was peasants and carrots.

Could a dice be rolled again? Could the tables be turned? A wise man had once told him that there was no point in living if you fear failure with every step. He'd never had carrots with diamonds, but who was to say that it wouldn't work out?

The picture of Sam on the notice board seemed to agree with him. Sam. Gladys. He'd know exactly what to do, what to say to win her back. How to make things right- but this was one trip the Gene Genie had to make alone.

Hell, there was nothing to lose and everything to gain.

So it was then in a dimly lit office on a cold September evening that Eugene Arthur Hunt turned away from the white ribbon of loneliness and made a decision.

He needed her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello! I hope you're all still reading, apologies for the delay but school and things tend to get in the way...only a shortish chapter this time I'm afraid, but would love to know what you all think-next chapter's where it alll kicks off, happy reading! xxx**

The kicks were harder and more frequent now. Little reminders that he was there, driving her mad, night after night... If only he were there.

He still haunted her dreams, an asterisk in her mind, his words throwing exclamation marks with every syllable. And every time she fought him. She fought for the life growing inside her. Her son. Son. A little boy...

She could picture him now. Perfect. Shiny blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes - the spitting image of his...Dad. Dad? Dad. No. That was wrong - too personal, too intimate. It took a certain type of man to be a dad. Not Pete and certainly not that bastard. Father? Pater? Perhaps they were acceptable, not that it was important. He didn't want to know and she was fine with that. Well, she wasn't, but these things happened and she just had to get on with it. That was what she was programmed to do after all - to build; to lock up and forget. To cope.

The reds and greys of the flat were slowly being overshadowed by a sea of blues. Toys and books and god-knows-whats, all on Mothercare's list of "You and Your Baby 1984". The cover showed a Mummy and a Daddy, with their new-born baby - such luxury she would never know, not with Molly, and not with Baby... Baby what? Hunt? Lord no, Christ no, Jesus fucking superstar and his great aunt Freda no. That thought wasn't even bearable. Drake didn't seem like a good option either, yet another twat to add to her long list of failures - hell! She might as well call him Baby Thatcherite Wanker. She juggled the thought of Price in her head - a shitty father also. The mother not much better. Her baby should have better than that; her baby deserved better than that. So it seemed that Baby No-Name would have to do, at least for now.

The pregnancy itself had been relatively smooth. Not much sickness, the odd craving here and there - nothing major. She had that to be thankful for.

That first kick was magical. A shiny penny in the cracked, trampled on pavement of her existence. In a supermarket of all places. A faint fluttering transformed into a sharp strike that made the world worth being a part of again. From that moment, from that split-second, the sleepless nights, tears and the pain were all worth it. She knew she'd do anything to see her son's smiling face for the first time.

She felt it one last time that night before whispering, "I can't wait to meet you," as the feathers of slumber tickled her to sleep.

Alex Drake's life seemed to be full of unexpected things. The death of her parents for a start - a rather unique case. So unique in fact that her unusual situation deemed it okay for mockery, an extension to the long list of scars that withered and whipped about her. Popping up for a chat now and again, a little metaphorical trigger shooting yet another pang of guilt, of shame. Affecting every judgement, every choice. All the time, there were whispers in her head.

It shaped you, yes, but the person you turned out to be wasn't that great either, was it? Your choice of husband proved that to the world who looked upon you with judgment and disdain. His departure too unexpected, to you at least - the world and his mistress seemed to spot it a mile off.

You knew as you walked Molly to the park that same day that they all expected it. That they all knew he would go, and your life - your career, was over. But you fought, you fought so hard; just like usual. And you fight that same struggle every single day- the fight of womanhood.

You career, your modern one at least, came to an unexpected end. You expected a pleasant day with candles and cake and all the other niceties you never experienced as a child. That too cut short by the slug of your misfortune. Never quite shutting the door behind you, its trail ever present on good ol' memory lane.

Your choice of lover proved a theory you'd been in denial of for so long. He too taking an ill-timed plot twist into unexpected vile. His sharp swerve in to menace nagging, clutching and curling round every fibre of your dreams.

Except tonight it seemed, the grey cloud of that man had floated off - sailed away, leaving an eerie gap of nothingness, better than reality at least.

Alex Drake's life was full of unexpected things. And what she most certainly did not expect...was him.

The knock. So distinctly him. Her arms wound round her midriff protectively. Was she mistaken? Could this hysteria have driven her this far? The Catherine wheel of a knock sounded again. Disrupting peace, or lack thereof, as per. At least something was constant.

A feeble deliberation followed. There was no argument really - the damage was done. She was too weak now; weak, hormonal and scared. So she gave into the chain of temptation and cautiously fulfilled the inevitable.

And there he was. A little thinner but not noticeably so. Same hair, same tie, suit, shirt - same fucking ridiculous cowboy boots. Constant as always. She reached out to touch him, to check she wasn't imagining... Gently at first, before a series of uranium bombs pounded into his chest - fuelled by the sheer force, the overwhelming power of her anger. Four, eight, twelve, sixteen, thirty-two, she didn't care how many, she just wanted to hurt and frighten and change him too, like the way he changed her. Physically, psychologically, whatever. She was beyond caring now. Waterfalls of her pain descended her cheeks, drawn now, like a skeleton. She thought she could handle it, confront him, let him know the turmoil he caused her...it was all too much. There would be no bruising, she knew that. He probably knew that too. Only the last of her energy she used productively...slamming the door in his face.

His weak, limp, weathered body slumped against their wooden barrier - exhausted, drained. A hot violent tsunami fell and attacked her cheeks, dripping to land in odd abstract shapes atop her bump. An occasional roar of distress escaped her lips.

You're in control now, Alex. You make the rules. You decide who's boss. That's what you've always wanted, right? It's what you wanted on October 10th 1981; January 21st 1997; July 21st 2008; November 2 1983. Your destiny in your hands. No more answering, no more questions. Just you.

But even after all this, all this triumph, this victory, Alex Drake made a decision of her own. Control isn't all that it seems.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello strangers! I'm so sorry about the lack of updates recently. a-levels are rather life ruining aren't they? I hope this is okay, as it's slightly different from my usual style, if any of it doesn't make sense then let me know, ff is giving me a different word count to microsoft :L anyway, on with the story- would love to hear what you all think xxxx**

You didn't hear her. Again. She screamed and bawled and shouted but you didn't listen. She must have chased you a good quarter mile before you stopped. Barefoot, and bloody drowning in the pissin' rain. At least she was sleeping now, your coat pressed up to her nose. You were glad there was a part of you with her tonight. The things she told you didn't bear thinking of. One's thing for certain, she'd never be without you again...

"Gene...Gene...GENE!"

At first you thought it was the wind, or your mind playing tricks on you again. She wasn't the only one having bad dreams. The third one was the one that made you turn though. There was nothing in the sharp, piercing, scream of your name that wasn't totally real; and wasn't totally her. God. She looked worse than before- apparently that was humanly possible. Her fringe was plastered to her head in unruly twig-like strands. Her perfect face was peppered with mud. Her ruddy ankles were bleeding too.

The funny thing was, is that, for once you were both speechless. You'd planned over and over what you'd say to her. Hell, you'd written a friggin' monologue. From the look on her face so had she.

You wanted to laugh. You didn't.

You stepped forward. She stepped back.

"Yer ruddy ankles are bleedin' woman"

She looked down and let out a strangled "oh"

"C'mere. Quattro's just around the corner"

"No. I don't want to."

"I don't give a shit whether you want to or not. You're bleeding and I'm bloody well gonna sort you out.

She said nothing. That somehow made it worse.

It suddenly occurred to you how ridiculous you must look. In the middle of London. in the rain. Drenched. Bet she's frozen.

"Put this on and don't argue" you say, handing her your coat.

To your surprise, she did as she was told. You thought you'd be pleased. You weren't. You wanted her to be back the way she was: fierce; ballsy...wonderful. But you had fucked that up. You. And only you could fix it.

Your coat drowned her frail form, more so than the rain, that much was obvious. Her arms wound a protective shield around the 31 week bump that she was so scared of. That you were so scared of.

You could tell she felt at home in your arms. The way she wordlessly put her head in your neck, and clung onto you like a child would its mother. She hadn't changed perfumes, you could tell that much.

It felt weird to see her in the back of the quattro. Normally she was at your side. Normally she matched you stride by stride. Your equal. Now you had to protect her, protect them. At this moment, the Graves case didn't matter. Ray didn't matter. Chris didn't matter. Shaz didn't matter. And bloody Keats... He was long gone. Everything was her from now on.

Faint sniffles were coming from the back seat. The first noise since she'd screamed your name. "Not long now Bolly" you said, trying to lighten the mood. It worked. Sort of.

'Not long now' was the hard part. They were about eight seconds from her flat...but they were also about eight weeks 'til their son was born. They'd both be parents. He'd be a dad.

Perhaps it was the Bolly part that made the corners of her mouth twitch. He hadn't used that in a while and she probably hadn't heard it in just as long. He'd stopped calling it her at home when they were together. It didn't feel right. Bolly was a detective. She knew the ropes. She wore tarty clothes and had a head full of brains. Alex wasn't like that. She was classy; she was funny; caring, kind and oh so beautiful. She loved and was loved in return. She was perfect. And right now, he'd sell his soul to get that back.

He carried her to the flat as if she were the crown jewels. She didn't push him away like he thought she would. Merely sniffled and waited patiently to be sat down. She'd left the front door unlocked. Bloody fruitcake.

An angry whisper broke the silence of the flat 'I don't need your help.' It was bland and straight to the point, but he was having none of it.

'Shut it and do as your told' aggression had worked in the past, he needed her wound up to remind himself that the spark was still there, no matter how faint.

'Do as I'm told? How dare you. You swan in here after seven months of nothing, and just expect everything to go back the way it was? Hey, why don't we go to bed together to really seal the deal eyy? Eyy Gene?'

He thought she wanted a response. He thought wrong.

'No don't you even think about speaking I'm not done yet. Who is the one that had to buy everything for our son? Your son Gene. Who's the one that's carried him for seven months and looks like a bloody beached whale? Me. Who's the one that can't even go on fucking maternity leave because I can hardly support myself never mind two of us. And who's the one that has to put up with a dickhead boss and his dickehead team, and can't even bloody communicate with her old team because they all think she's a slut!"

Her face was blue with the effort of it all, her breathing erratic, eyes wide. Her shivering made him feel even more like a bastard. But he couldn't let her win, not when there were two sides of this story...

'Yeah Bolls? An' what about me eh? How am I supposed to feel when rumours a bouncing of the bleedin' walls left righ' an' centre? I was scared to death of us as it was an' then all this about me not being able to trust you comes out. An' it made me think of how I was 'oldin' yer back Bolls. You could go far without me, professionally an' personally. Me, I'm just a washed out old flatfoot 'ho's overstayed 'is welcome on the beat. You could go right to the top and marry any bloke you fancied. What the fuck were you doing messing around with me eh?!'

She slapped him then. A full grown whack. He almost smiled. She was back.

'The hell you thought that. All you wanted was a shag. Wish you'd told me earlier and I wouldn't've gone to all the effort of trying to impress you. Why couldn't you get it in your head that I loved YOU Gene. I wanted to be with YOU. If I'd wanted a thatcherite wanker, I'd've gone back to that red braced twat but Gene. I needed you. The one time I needed you and you weren't there.'

'Well I'm here now aren't I?' It was a stupid excuse, and she really wasn't in the mood for playing games.

'Oh and that makes it all okay now doesn't it 'sorry Alex I'm just off for a bit, I'll come back for the birth though; maybe I'll surprise you again and bugger off another time just like all the other men in your life', what the bloody hell are you grinning at?'

'You're still there.'

'Pardon?'

'You're still my Alex.'

'Your Alex? Ppft. I'm my Alex, not yours nor anyone else's.'

'Okay then Bolls'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Nothing...nothing, nothing at all'

An uncomfortable pause lingered around the pair. He broke it with a sign. She broke it with a sniff.

'Right' they said in unison

'I'm running a bath. You know where the door is'

'Fuck off.'

'Excuse me?'

'It's simple Bolls. Fuck. Off'

She waddled her way to the bathroom at quite a speed given her thirty-one week bump, but he beat her to it easily.

'You are not going anywhere til we've sorted this out.'

'Excuse me? Who are you to tell me what to do I'm not your slave now fucking let me past!'

A pause lingered in the dingy flat. He broke it with a smile.

'What now?'

'You're back.'

'I'm what?'

'You're back Bolls. You're alive you're properly alive'

'And you call me the fruitcake' she replied, finally sitting down.

He looked around the flat awkwardly, not really sure about his next move. If he sat down beside her, she'd only shun him away. If he left then his second chance would well and truly be over. If he made her a drink he'd only fuck that up- were pregnant women supposed to drink coffee? Maybe the smell would make her sick or...

'Gene for got sake sit down, you're making the place look untidy'

"At least there's some sense in this room" he though to himself as he obeyed her. He quickly removed his feet from the coffee table though, after receiving one of her glares. After a few minutes of anticipation, she gave him his ultimatum:

'You've got two minutes to convince me to take you back, and I'll listen. Then it's my decision whether to have you in my sons life, I'm in control'

"This is your chance Gene...take it while you can"


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello again! Did we all have a good Christmas? I'm terribly sorry for my lack of updates recently, and apologies that this chapter is rather short but i felt like a natural break would be wise here... I am also pleased to announce that the rest of the story has been planned out and just needs writing up so expect more frequent updates from now one :) now, enough of my rambling, have a good new year and happy reading! CE xxxxxxx**

He breathed in, hard...and opened the door to his heart. He'd never done this before, he'd never planned to...Gene Hunt was no poofter but when it came to family he'd take a million bullets if it meant they were safe. He looked at her expectant face, hazel-green orbs wide with expectation, just as vulnerable as she was.

"You're still so beautiful..." He felt himself say, almost involuntarily. She smiled, a proper smile this time...did she still love him?

"Gene, flattery won't get you anywhere"

He sighed. He knew. She wasn't like that, never had been. He just wanted her to know that even when it seemed like the world was against her he would always be there to hold her hand, to keep her safe...except he couldn't tell her that, he wasn't good with words.

"I know Bolls, I know"

An awkward silence fell between the pair. She was waiting patiently. He sighed again and took his wallet out of his inside pocket

"Gene I don't want any-"

He held out his hand to stop her.

"I kept it Bolls, I know you thought I'd wrecked it, but I didn't, just wanted the others to think I did, I couldn't do it. It's our baby Bolls. Our little lad."

He showed her the scan photo, as clear as if it had been taken yesterday. He'd hidden it in the back of his wallet. The team still had to think he was the Manc lion who hated the woman who allegedly screwed him over, he didn't, he just never found the right time to tell her.

He handed her that scan photo.

"You see Bolls, since Sam died...I never... I promised myself that I'd never let anyone in again . So I panicked; I pushed the ex- wife away, Annie, Ray, Chris, and even ruddy Manchester. I didn't want to be hurt like that again. And then you came along and I just slipped. You were different to everyone else; you didn't want me because I has a good left hook, or because I was a copper, you saw me for me: The Gene Hunt that likes sleeping in; making lunch and walking in the park. I couldn't have been happier Bolls, really I couldn't. But then all that shit with the rumours happened and I...I don't know why I flipped...I should've known to ask you beforehand but I just panicked, I wanted to push again. You were there and I just lost it. I promise to God I'll never do it again, I just panicked."

She still hadn't said anything. She just looked down and twirled the scan photo around her fingers. He pulled another piece of paper from his wallet, it was his last resort but he'd been up most of the night writing it so he may as well put it to good use.

" I wrote some stuff down, promises like, I know it's gonna take you a while to start trusting me again. I'll be grateful if you let me back into your life...I'm gonna sound right poofty but desperate times call for desperate measures."

She cracked a smile then. She'd missed him, loathed him yes, but at times like this she really, truly missed him.

"Number one, tell her I'll be there for the birth, all the aftercare stuff; the hospital visits, doctors appointments, christenings. Two, tell her I'll get up for all the night feeds, I'll look after him when you're tired, and I'll look after you. I'll rub your feet, sing you songs, dance with you and he'll be the most loved little boy in the world. Three, tell her I've quit smoking, nd I don't even drink that much anymore. I've lost two stone in eight months...I want to be healthy and see my lad grow up. Our lad. I'm going for promotion, getting myself off the street so I'm not in danger anymore. I'll take him to football matches, teach him to ride a bike, read him bedtime stories, play games with him- whatever he wants to play. And I promise that nothing will ever hurt you again. Hell, I'm not even gonna step out of this door without your say so. It was never a one-night thing. Not with you 'Lex"

For a few moments, she was speechless. 'Lex. She only ever heard that when the first rays of sunlight fell through the blinds, signalling the arrival of a new day. his broad frame would turn to face her and a voice thick with sleep murmured her name, gathering her into his comforting embrace. For those few moments she was reminded of a time when she never felt safer, more loved or more wanted.

"Gene?"

"Yeah?"

"Stay."

**So there you have it, happiness from now on I reckon guys, I think they deserve it :) Please let me know what you think xxxxx**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello strangers! Goodness! it seems like an age since I last updated- Sorry! So, if anyone is still reading this I apologise if it seems like a filler chapter, I was trying to get a whole eight weeks of relationship building without loosing the plot line, and if my narrative seems lacking then I am also very sorry. Now enough with the dreariness, on with the story- happy reading! xxxxx**

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since she'd let him back into her life; and he'd been trying, he didn't think he'd ever tried so hard at one thing in his life before. Hell, he'd even cooked for her once, proper cooking with flour and sausages and mashed potato, not just heated up some rubbish from downstairs like he usually did. He'd made a right mess of the kitchen but he was proud of himself, and so was she….

"_Gene! Gene? I'm home from the hairdressers…Gene? Gene-"_

"_Oh hello Bolly, yer look lovely."_

"_Thanks; errr…what are you doing? And why is my kitchen a bombsite?"_

"_I've been cooking Bolls…Bangers and mash with proper gravy, right little masterchef me"_

"_Hmmm yes very good Delia, you've managed to make it snow in here too"_

"_Alright alright I'll clean it up, I just..wanted..ter surprise yer Bolly"_

"_Well it smells lovely Gene, proud of you."_

"_Cheers love."_

He enjoyed being more domesticated now, keeping the flat nice, making tea and looking after her, she'd finally put her feet up and taken out her maternity leave, thank goodness. Her cravings for biscuits only added to his delight and they could while away the hours sharing a plate of bourbons on the sofa and watching some old film on the telly.

Not long after their talk, he'd invited Alex to move in with him, she'd been a little sceptical at first, having only just allowed him the comfort of her sofa. She'd insisted he go away to a conference at Leeds, he was a Superintendent after all, and it would give her time to mull it over. Too much time it seemed, as a late night phone call woke him from his slumber…

"'_lo?"_

"_Gene?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_I'll move in."_

"_Wha?"_

"_I'll move in, yer daft bugger"_

"_Oi! Is that you mocking my accent?"_

"_Hmm…maybe? Miss you…."_

"_Miss you too love, what changed yer mind?"_

"_Just realised how much I needed you, and…and I don't… want to be on my own anymore.."_

"_Yer don't 'ave to Bolls… not anymore, I'm here."_

"_I know, I know…I'll see you soon."_

"_Yeah, night Bolls."_

"_Night."_

"_Oh and Bolls."_

"_Yeah."_

"_Love you."_

"_What?"_

"_I Love you, yer dozy mare."_

"_I…I love you to Gene."_

"_Yeah, I know, night love"_

"_Yeah, night."_

That was the first time he'd said it, he'd tried on multiple occasions, to say it to her face but it just hadn't come out right. Always changing to 'I..'m just going outside for a fag' or 'I..just need to pop downstairs for something', on the phone he didn't have to look at her reaction.

But he'd said it now, and she'd said it back- and Alex Drake was no liar; that much he knew, and he was happier than he ever thought possible.

To Alex's delight, Gene didn't live in the stereotyped unkempt copper's flat she was expecting, but a simple, reasonably sized detached house on the outskirts of the city. It had a decently sized, if slightly overgrown, garden and Gene could practically hear the cogs whizzing round her head as she muttered nonsense about poppies and daffodils under her breath.

"We can sort that out later Mrs Fruitcake, c'mon- you need the guided tour."

The house itself was pretty plain on the inside; rooms were sparsely decorated, with only the odd photograph in a battered album on the bookshelf. She still thought of the day her told her about each one individually, another layer of him slowly revealed to her…

"_That's Annie, at Her and Sam's anniversary do- they never could afford a wedding, not the one that Annie wanted anyway, so they always celebrated the day they got together down The Railway Arms every year."_

"_That's nice, do you ever miss it? Manchester I mean?"_

"_Sometimes I suppose; most of the time I try and forget about it- t'were a different time then, I were a different man…are you wearing new perfume? Smells nice."_

"_Mmm…yeah, bought it ages ago, found it when I was unpacking the other night…where's this one from?"_

"_That there is me, first day on the beat. I wasn't half skinny, couple of night shifts with only a kebab shop for company soon fixed that up."_

"_Aww! I think you look cute!"_

"_Pfft. The Gene Genie is not cute."_

"_Okay okay you're not cute, you're very manly, and strong and you're the best at- ahh! Gene! That tickles! Stop it I can't breathe I ca-"_

"_Ooh look, we missed one, May 1945, who are they?"_

"_That's me Mam, there's me, and that tiny baby is my brother Stu."_

"_How old are you here?"_

"_4, nearly 5, just after the war ended; don't really remember much of it like but I were happy that day, waving me flag and getting free cake of the Vicar's wife, right little spoilt brat that day."_

_She studied the photo intently, smiling and how his hair flopped adorably over his forehead, the way it did to this very day._

"_I bet you were a little heartbreaker."_

_He went quiet all of a sudden, and sat down heavily on the sofa. Silence. She went to sit next to him. He took her hand and cradled it in his, pulling her down gently to sit beside him concentrating on the small circles he traced on her hand._

"_No Bolls, it wasn't like that…we were a 'problem family', a 'bad influence'...kids in the playground were told 'stay away from those Hunt boys, they're nothing but trouble'…But we weren't Bolls, we weren't"_

"_I believe you" she said, squeezing his hand a little tighter._

"_It were all me dad's fault. He changed after he came back from the war…more distant, more serious like. Then came the drinking; at first he'd just come home a bit merry like, the odd broken nose after he'd fallen over, then Christmas eve came…the shouting, the stamping, Stu thought it was Santa for goodness sake. The thrashings became more regular after that, Mam, me, Stu- whoever happened to be in his way. I could handle him after I turned twelve and he lay off a bit before he buggered off a few years later. Stu couldn't cope though, dunno what it was, guilt maybe…he turned to drugs and died of an overdose just after I joined the force. Mam followed shortly after; died of a broken heart they said."_

_Slowly and cautiously, she wrapped her arms around his defeated form, neither of them spoke for a long while, the picture hanging loosely between his war-torn hands._

"_Stuart's a nice name."_

"_No Bolls, not again. I couldn't do that ter me own flesh and blood"_

"_Okay"_

"_Right, sick of moping, c'mon, arse into gear, you need to choose a colour for the bookshelves in his room, don't know why you've got all them bloody pallets, they all look the same to me."_

_And then he was back._

They never spoke of the incident again. They didn't need to really, like Alex's tearful rendition of Molly, it stayed in the corner like a delicate vase; to be looked on fondly when it catches your eye, but never touched or explored fully, for fear that it would break.

It had taken surprisingly little time to get the baby's room fully decorated, Gene proved himself quite the handyman fully assembling every cot wardrobe and bookcase Alex had chosen. Dozens of blue hats babygrows and booties scattered the carpet, being folded and packed carefully and neatly by a heavily pregnant Alex. She was almost ready to pop now, just over a week and their son would be here. Their baby Joseph. It was the only name they could agree on after endless arguments over naming them after famous painters or Manchester city players. They argued much less now, and the spark of romance had been rekindled, confirmed to them both one Saturday afternoon….

"_Get out 'Lex, M'not finished, bloody fumes'll kill yer!"_

"_Calm down Gene it's fine! Just open another window I want to see!"_

"_Oh bloody hell, fine, get yer arse in here then and sit on that beanbag and don't move. Kay."_

"_Yes yes your highness whatever, I'm pregnant not disabled I'm perfectly capable of- Oh Gene, Gene, this is amazing I-I can't believe- all this on your own."_

"_Course, there were this charity that used to come to my school and teach us all about this stuff an' I really liked it, used to beg people for their old furniture and stuff when I were a lad, batter me eyelids a bit and all the posh women'd swoon at me feet"_

"_SO this is what you've been up to all week then? When I've been beached on the sofa with that bloody patchwork quilt I've just finished."_

"_Yeah, figured if you could do all the sewing and knitting I could make meself useful."_

"_I don't know what to say, you wonderful, wonderful man."_

_In one corner of the baby blue decorated room was a rocking horse in the shape of a lion, polished an pained to perfection, 'Joseph' etched neatly on its frame, the colours bright and warm. Carved with the precision and expertise of any professional standing tall and prod as the man who crafted it._

"_Thanks Bolls, I know he can't use it till he's a bit older but I wanted him to have it as soon as he could, I want him to have better than I did Bolls, I know you still have your doubts and you've every right to but I promise yer, I'll be the best dad I can to 'im, I'm not gonna be perfect, and I won't pretend to be, but I'm gonna do all I can to make him happy, and you too. Unbreakable, yeah?"_

_She gave him a watery nod. "I think he agrees with you Gene. Here, feel."_

_She placed his hand under hers and her felt the defined outline of a foot hit his hand. He'd never felt it that strong before._

"_Bolls it's amazing."_

"_isn't it just, so close to meeting him, I can't wait."_

"_Me too," He replied, kissing her hand. "Not long now eh?"_

"_No."_

_Not long until they were a family, properly, he hoped. She was scared and she knew he was too, even if he thought she didn't know it. But they'd be fine. Call it instinct, call it nouse, she felt safer and more cared by him than Pete or any of her other serious partners._

"_Take me to bed Gene."_

"_Eyy?"_

"_Take me to bed."_

"_Can you do that, I mean, it won't hurt-"_

"_Yes it's fine Gene, trust me, widely encouraged in fact."_

"And you're sure you want to?"

"Yes."

"Give us a kiss then."

"Hmmm…Kay"

There was to be no more sofas or spare rooms from now on. Whispered promises of love and care showered them both as they gently made love into the dead of the night. Afterwards, there was no more bitterness, no more doubts, just comfort, trust, and love.

"Gene?"

"Yes?"

"What would you have done, if I'd said no to taking you back?"

"I dunno Bolls, I dunno."

"We'll be alright, won't we Gene?"

"Yes Love, we're gonna be fine. Unbreakable, remember?"

"Hmmm…Yeah…"


End file.
